


The Best Laid Plans

by Curreeus



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mentioned Germany (Hetalia), North Italy is also mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curreeus/pseuds/Curreeus
Summary: "Our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore AU"Excerpt from a planned longer fic based on this prompt.





	The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing a fic based on the prompt in the summary, and was about halfway through before losing interest and falling out of the fandom... I won't post what I have because it's unfinished and likely will remain that way, but I found this excerpt in my writing folder and still liked it, so I hope someone else can enjoy it too.

The evening air of Naples is warm but not stifling as Gilbert and Lovino sit out on the porch of Lovino’s small house, in worn wicker chairs that had seen their best decades ago. Between them flows easy conversation and two bottles of red wine, one empty and the other near so, glasses clasped in loosening grips as the sun disappears behind the pines that line the road.

The evening was supposed to have been one of their planning sessions for the “dating” façade they were pulling on their brothers after being set up on a blind date… but that idea had failed when Lovino had gotten hungry and gotten up to quickly make something to eat, and then it was dinnertime so Gilbert had insisted on helping and three hours later there they were, bellies pleasantly full of traditional Bolognese with fettucine and no plans made for their next “couple” stunt.

That was ok, there was always tomorrow – so Lovino had ventured down into the small wine cellar dug underneath the old house and pulled up one of the bottles of red that he’d been ageing, sat Gilbert on the porch, and tried to teach him to be cultured.

To be honest, the evening had come and gone in a much more comfortable way than Lovino would ever have expected from spending it with someone like Gilbert, despite the tentative friendship they seemed to have begun lately. When Gilbert had suggested the whole thing he’d seen it as maybe a way to pass the time, an annoyance that he had to put up with for a gain at the end – and the prospect of making that German bastard suffer by “dating” and then breaking the heart of his brother was quite the gain indeed.

But somewhere along the line they’d stopped being just acquaintances or even “partners in crime” and had found some sort of unexpected understanding.

Instead of waking up with annoyance to a text from “Old Potato”, he looks forward to the inevitable flood of Snapchats he’d get if he was at a meeting and Gilbert wasn’t, or just the random updates throughout the day where Gilbert would text him for no real reason and claim that he’s bored.

He’s loath to admit it but he’s starting to enjoy Gilbert’s company a lot more than he thought he ever would – he’s coming to like the days when Gilbert comes over for no real reason apart from to show him some movie or TV show he hasn’t seen or to just talk to him and “help” him when he cooks or gardens; never insisting Lovino can’t dig the weeds or roll out pasta dough himself, but just genuinely wanting to make himself useful.

And for some reason, it seems as though Gilbert genuinely wants to be around him, wants to talk to him, and to top it all, wants his friendship, something that Lovino can’t begin to fathom.

He would never admit it to anyone, but it’s nice that someone thinks of him almost every day, even if it is just Gilbert.

Now, Gilbert rants about all the awesome places in ex-Prussian lands that Lovino is missing out on, pinching the stem of his wine glass almost daintily as he takes a sip. Somehow, it’s difficult to picture the Prussian with anything other than a tankard of beer, and yet there he is, enjoying the eight year old Aglianico red that Lovino had been keeping squirrelled away and looking almost comical as he contemplates the flavours. It’s one of the most disjunct and strange images Lovino could imagine, and he can’t help it; he lets a tiny little chuckle pass his lips, loosened by the alcohol, and as luck would have it Gilbert picks that moment to fall silent in his listing of the places he has to take Lovino.

Gilbert turns and grins at him, cheeks flushed rose in stark contrast to the rest of his white skin, and he chuckles in return.

“What are you laughing at, ‘Vino?”

Lovino tries to bring himself to be angry at the nickname, he really does, but calling him “Vino” of all things is such an ironic addition to the picture that he can’t help but let the chuckle in his chest grow into a brief laugh, making Gilbert grin wider.

“Come on, the Brandenburg gate isn’t that funny. What is it?”

Lovino shakes his head, his eyes still smiling.

“Nothing, just… you. I don’t know how an idiot like you is actually managing to appreciate that instead of just guzzling it down like you do with that gross stuff at your bastard brother’s house.”

Gilbert just smiles, ignoring the jab at “the most awesome of drinks” and looking down at the glass in his hand.

“I did have a Romantic period, you know. I didn’t exactly paint any masterpieces or anything, but I’ve been known to have an appreciation for the finer things.”

Lovino gives a little _snrk_ of a laugh in the back of his throat, swilling the liquid in his glass before taking another tiny sip.

“Pfft, like what, your own supposedly incredible ass? Trust me, it’s not that great.”

Gilbert looks offended, and Lovino doesn’t blame him actually – there’s something to be said about Gilbert’s ass when it isn’t hidden by track pants or baggy jeans.

Wait, what?

“You didn’t seem to mind when you were grabbing it the last time we had to kiss.”

Gilbert seems to know the exact buttons to push to get Lovino firing and he pushes away – Lovino splutters into his glass and glowers at the giddily grinning Prussian, feeling his face heat.

“I was not grabbing it! My hands weren’t anywhere near there!”

Gilbert settles in his chair, attempting to look nonchalant.

“Really? What a pity – we gotta work on your kissing technique, ‘Vino.”

Lovino just gapes, scoffing.

“Please, you’re the one who’s shitty at kissing – it’s like you flop your tongue out and hope for the best, it’s disgusting and it’s not fooling anyone!”

“Oh please, like Lud knows the difference, and he’s the main target here.”

“Yeah, well as much as I hate to admit it _my_ little brother knows exactly what he’s looking at because unlike yours he wasn’t repressed as fuck growing up!”

“Are you entirely sure that’s a good thing?”

“It’s better than kissing like a fucking wet fish!”

“Which is probably better than kissing like a dry fish, hmm?”

Lovino almost chokes as he swallows the last of the wine from his glass, looking over at Gilbert’s smirk with a frown.

“Don’t get smart with me, you’re still a really fucking shitty kisser.”

Gilbert just chuckles, emptying his own glass and putting it down before sitting back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

“Well, if I’m so bad at it, why don’t you give me lessons or something? Make it a bit more bearable for yourself?”

Lovino huffs indignantly, looking down with disappointment at his empty glass and reaching for the half empty bottle by one of the legs of his chair.

“What the fuck kind of suggestion is that? I can’t teach you to kiss, idiot!”

Gilbert just shrugs, nonchalant.

“And why not?”

“Because… well, for a start you can’t teach kissing, that’s just a stupid concept. And then there’s the fact that you’re a fucking Germanic. How do you teach a stick-in-the-mud bastard like a Germanic to kiss? You don’t.”

Lovino takes a swig of the wine straight from the bottle, pointedly ignoring the look he can feel Gilbert boring into the side of his face. When he lowers the bottle he hears Gilbert shift and when he turns he’s caught in a gaze that’s as deep red as the wine on his tongue and far too close for comfort.

“Didn’t I just mention my Romantic side, Vino?”

Gilbert’s voice is suddenly very low and gravelly, and Lovino’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

Gilbert leans a little closer, gaze boring into him.

“Come on. Why don’t you try me?”

Lovino opens his mouth to reply, to say something dry and sarcastic, but _goddammit there is not a single context in which that sentence isn’t loaded with tension_ and so he instead just takes a breath through barely parted lips, gaze flickering down to Gilbert’s mouth for a just a moment, just long enough to realise that Gilbert is leaning far enough out of his chair towards Lovino that it’d only take the smallest of leans to complete the distance and kiss the smirk off those lips and –

Lovino blinks hard and shakes his head minutely.

Well that’s a sure sign that he’s definitely had too much wine; he’s thinking of kissing Germans.

Damn the power of suggestion and twice damn Gilbert for doing the suggesting.

With a sigh and a quick _tsk_ noise in the back of his throat Lovino shoves the now nearly empty bottle of wine into Gilbert’s chest, making the tipsy Prussian almost fall out of his chair and give a confused whine as he releases one of his holds on the armrest the grab the bottle.

“How about you try going inside bastard, you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, well so are you!”

Lovino scoffed, focussing just a little bit too hard on making sure he could regain his feet properly before snatching up the empty wine glasses and making to swagger inside.

“I’m not the one who was falling asleep in his chair five minutes ago.”

Gilbert gives an indignant snort from behind him – “I was not!” – and Lovino hears the chair almost tip over as the blonde clambers out of it. He smiles to himself, sure that Gilbert can’t see it, and opens the front door, stepping into the dark hallway inside that is lit dimly by the light they left on in the kitchen down the other end and the porch-light they’re leaving behind.

He’s just barely inside and feeling for the light switch when he feels Gilbert press in behind him, arm sliding past his to grab at the wine glasses in his hand.

“I can take those, it’s ok – ”

Lovino starts at the sudden closeness, gripping the fragile stems a little tighter, trying to shrug Gilbert off as he slides his other hand along the wall to feel for the switch.

“No, I can do it myself, bastard. Take care of the wine, that shit’s precious.”

“Yeah but one of the glasses is mine, you might as well – ”

_Ssssssssh-Thud._

The screen door hisses closed and Gilbert clutches at his elbow and howls in what could honestly be either pain or humour. Lovino turns around in mild panic as Gilbert starts huffing what could be either laughs or sobs, wine bottle dangling from one hand as he clutches his arm.

“Shit, is the wine ok?”

“Yeah, wine’s fine, but crap, that was my funny bone…”

Gilbert starts actually laughing, snorting and wheezing, and Lovino feels his face crack into a crooked grin and laughter bubble up his throat at the sound.

“What the fuck kind of laugh is that? Holy shit…”

For a moment they both stand there laughing at each other while Lovino slides his hand up and down the wall, unable to remember exactly where the light switch is. Gilbert takes a step forward, almost tripping over the lip of the carpet.

“Lovino wait, I can’t – where the heck is the light switch?!”

Lovino just chuckles, continuing to move down the hallway and feel for the switch.

“It’s just here, hold your – ”

_Thunk._

“FUCKING SHITBALLS MOTHERFUCKER.”

Lovino stumbles, trying to clutch the knee he just rammed into the table in the hallway – the one he always forgets is there – while also holding two wine glasses, and Gilbert lets out another obnoxious laugh from somewhere else in the hallway as he dives for the glasses again.

“I told you, I can take them – ”

“And I told you to fuck off, now – FUCKING FUCK.”

Lovino stumbles as his knee finally gives up, flailing his arms out and around the nearest thing for support, which happens to be Gilbert’s shoulders. Gilbert just laughs, circling his arms around Lovino’s waist and trying to pull him back to his feet.

Which would have been fine, if they hadn’t just shared two full bottles of well-aged Italian wine between them.

Gilbert’s own precarious balance gives out and all of a sudden the world tilts – then Lovino’s back meets the wall and there’s the warm weight of Gilbert pressed onto him, arms still around Lovino’s waist and head pressed into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

After much shuffling and sliding they finally manage to balance, arms and legs spread every which way, glasses and bottle grasped precariously, and Gilbert raises his head from Lovino’s shoulder to lock eyes from only a few inches away.

That’s when Gilbert makes a spluttering laugh in the back of his throat, eyes bright, and they both dissolve into gales of laughter, glasses and wine bottle placed on the table and forgotten about.

Gilbert’s head finds Lovino’s shoulder again and Lovino can feel the shoulders he’s clutching onto for balance shaking with mirth.

“Jesus, that was stupid. Good thing I’m so romantic and caught you.”

Lovino smiles, knowing for a fact that Gilbert can’t see it with his face pressed to Lovino’s shoulder.

“You’re not romantic in the slightest, shut the fuck up.”

Gilbert raises his head again and Lovino schools his face into the usual frown, looking into Gilbert’s face as he smirks with something that isn’t quite laughter anymore.

“Neither are you, actually!”

“I’m half of Italy, I’m the most romantic nation on earth, you asswipe!”

“Then how come you’re so scared to kiss me?”

Whatever response had been running through Lovino’s brain at that point gives a false start and dies, and he just gapes at Gilbert for a few seconds, that thrice-fucking-cursed grin spreading slowly towards alcohol reddened cheeks, eyes dark in the dim hallway. Lovino looks away before stammering out something that might count as a response.

“I-it’s not that I’m scared, I just… I’m not fucking scared, you asshole!”

Gilbert’s grin just grows that little bit wider, and he leans a bit closer. Lovino’s heart speeds up just slightly, and he tries not to notice.

“Yeah? Well neither am I.”

And just like that Gilbert closes the final gap, pressing his lips gently to Lovino’s in possibly the most chaste kiss he’s ever received. It’s nothing more than a peck, really, just a gentle pressure from Gilbert’s lips to his, but it’s sweet and it’s so strangely shy for Gilbert that Lovino barely registers the fact that _Gilbert just fucking kissed him._ What he does register is Gilbert’s stupidly proud expression when he pulls away, and Lovino can’t help but laugh.

“What the fuck was that, potato brain?”

Gilbert has the audacity to look offended.

“It was a kiss! What, was it not up to your stupid Italian standards?”

Lovino just shakes his head – he can feel himself smiling, but for once it doesn’t really matter that Gilbert can see it.

“No, that was something that five year olds give each other in the fucking playground, looks like you do need help after all. Here, let me show you.”

And he’s just drunk enough that he forgets that this just isn’t a thing that heterosexual friends do,  gently cupping Gilbert’s jaw and bringing him in, watching the Prussian’s eyes widen and grinning at the way he looks like a wild deer about to bolt.

“What, you scared or something?”

Gilbert narrows his eyes a little and shakes his head just slightly where it’s trapped in Lovino’s hands. Lovino just lets the corners of his mouth turn up in an indulgent smile, stroking Gilbert’s cheek with his thumb.

“Well alright then – lesson number one, which you very painfully missed, was that you have to create the atmosphere. You can’t just fucking slap your mouth on someone else’s without checking if it’s ok, you have to watch them, very… closely.”

Towards the end of the sentence Lovino starts to lean in, and on the final word he closes the distance and leaves gentle presses of lips to the corners of Gilbert’s closed mouth, a little tease, a taunting mirror of what Gilbert had just given him. His hands slowly move down behind Gilbert’s neck to angle his head a bit, and he moves slowly to actually cover Gilbert’s lips with his own, pressing a little deeper.

For a few moments Gilbert seems frozen – then, Lovino feels the arms around his waist unravel and then there are hands gripping his shoulder blades as though Gilbert needs something to ground himself. Lovino just smiles against the corner of Gilbert’s mouth at how he’d just effectively silenced the loud and mostly obnoxious Prussia and turned him into this strange, tentative version of himself that no-one else seems to know about.

He likes it.

Slowly, after a few kisses where he did nothing but freeze up and Lovino was scared that this would be as gross as he’d expected, Gilbert relaxes and starts to reciprocate, gradually returning the short, gentle kisses with little pecks of his own, and Lovino colours himself impressed.

Looks like Germanics were actually able to learn this after all.

With one final kiss square on Gilbert’s lips Lovino slowly pulls away, finding something strangely attractive in the way that Gilbert looks even drunker than he already is at the sudden loss of contact – or maybe it’s just the low light.

Nope, definitely the low light.

“Got it?”

Gilbert nods slowly, eyes still wide, and now it’s his turn to stammer a response.

“Y-Yep, I uh… I get loads of atmosphere. I’m currently drowning in atmosphere.”

Lovino gives a quick nip to Gilbert’s lower lip, drawing a little confused whine from him before Lovino leans back in, his voice an almost-whisper.

“Good, now shut up, we’re moving on. You didn’t think you could graduate yet, did you?”

Gilbert just looks confused, and without really thinking about it Lovino leans back in, kissing a little firmer now, opening his mouth just slightly and catching Gilbert’s mouth with his. He draws Gilbert’s lower lip between his and locks their lips together softly before pulling back, adding just the right amount of pressure with his teeth; not quite a bite but more of a gentle scrape. To tease more than anything else, he flicks just the tiniest bit of tongue out to meet Gilbert’s, hovering back behind his teeth, and the Prussian gives a little jump and noise of surprise before tilting his head a bit without really realising it, the universal invitation for something more.

But Lovino doesn’t take the invitation. Not yet.

With one final nibble Lovino slowly lets Gilbert’s bottom lip slide back from between his own lips and pulls back again, his voice even quieter, more of a murmur against Gilbert’s lips than anything else, his own voice sounding low and rough to his ears.

“Are you getting this so far?”

Gilbert doesn’t even say anything, but Lovino can see and feel him nod and it might just be the dim hallway but when he looks up at his half-closed eyes they seem dark and the pupils are blown wide; and really that should be setting off alarm bells of “crossing the line” in his brain but for some reason all that it sets off is a little spark of heat in his chest, so mutely, he leans back in.

To his surprise, Gilbert gets a little bolder, meeting him halfway and mimicking the kiss Lovino had just given him. He opens his mouth just slightly and locks their lips together, initiating a gentle push and pull of a kiss with just the slightest hint of tongue and teeth, just like he’d just been given, tentative and still slightly unsure, and Lovino makes a little impressed noise before Gilbert pulls away, grinning.

“Yeah, I think I’m getting it.”

This grin isn’t the smug pride of before, this grin says that Gilbert’s breathlessly excited that this is happening, excited that Lovino is still playing along, and Lovino can’t help but want to continue the game.

 _It’s just to teach him,_ he says to himself, when really this went past “teaching” two kisses ago but the paper thin excuse lets Lovino ignore the little voice in the back of his head screaming “what the fuck are you doing” as he leans back in because honestly, who could give a flying fuck right now.

He knows what he should be doing, which is pushing Gilbert away like the drunk asshole he is and storming off to do the dishes.

But he’s slightly horrified to find that he doesn’t want to.

Almost against his will he finds his hands splaying on Gilbert’s shoulder blades and pulling him closer, and he can feel a shiver of delight manifesting at the top of his spine at the way Gilbert _lifts_ him just slightly and repositions him, placing him down against the wall like he’s made of china and for once he really doesn’t mind. In some distant, currently dormant part of his brain he knows he shouldn’t, he really, _really_ shouldn’t, but he can’t help the way it just feels so goddamn _natural_ to slide a hand up into pale hair and tilt Gilbert’s head just so, to take the invitation he’d been given, to pry Gilbert’s lips open with his own and lick into his mouth, so he does.

Gilbert’s mouth opens so willingly to him that it’s almost a shock, and when Lovino slides his tongue along Gilberts lip the blonde just makes this _noise_ in the back of his throat and pushes closer himself, and all of a sudden Lovino realises that he just doesn’t want to _stop_ whatever this is, teaching or not. That should be slightly frightening, honestly, but most of his higher brain functions are down right now and one of the only things that makes sense is the languid push and pull of their movements, of Gilbert being slightly unsure and himself being the confident one for once, Gilbert’s hands sliding back down and around his waist and his own hands circling around to cup the stubborn, square jaw that he hates on Gilbert’s brother but finds that he loves under his fingers right here and now.

And at the top of the list of things he shouldn’t be thinking about is the fact that he shouldn’t be thinking that he loves any part of Gilbert, but…

All he wants is to slide his hands lower and over the lean muscle he knows is there under the t-shirt, and he rubs his thumbs over the skin on that long, pale neck and imagines leaving marks on it to prove that Gilbert is his, _just_ his, the great Prussia has bowed and broken and succumbed to tiny weak little South Italy and Gilbert is _his_ now.

The thought makes the almost-shiver at the base of his neck cascade down his spine, and suddenly there’s all of this _heat_ pooling in unfortunate places and hovering between them. Idly, Lovino wonders if Gilbert can feel it too or if he’s the only one with a face on fire and knees going slightly weak.

Lovino’s hands are shaking a little bit on Gilbert’s neck, and Gilbert’s arms around his waist tighten slightly and dimly he registers _oh that’s nice right there with your hands splayed on my back,_ but then the hands hesitantly start to drift a little lower…

 Lovino reaches up on his tiptoes, subconsciously encouraging the hands in their exploration until they’ve wandered dangerously low and _oh yes please_

He lets out a little groan into Gilbert’s mouth and feels him smile wickedly, and unbidden, the thought rears its head that he wants those hands to grab his ass – hard – and pull their hips together, he wants to throw Gilbert back against the wall and hear him moan his name as though he’s the only thing that matters, he wants he wants he _wants_ and then –

And then the phone rings.

Both of them start, the moment snapping like a silken thread, and Gilbert leaps away from Lovino like he’s been burned, eyes wide and breath coming in short pants as he braces himself back against the opposite wall of the narrow hallway, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

All they can do for a short moment is stare, both of them gasping in breaths with racing hearts – then the phone gives its second ring and Gilbert turns, looking towards the sound, and Lovino can’t help but stare at the long, porcelain twist of his neck rising from his shirt.

“You should probably get that.”

Gilbert’s voice is low and a little raw, and it takes Lovino a moment of silent staring before his mind catches up with the present and he stumbles into action, tripping over the edge of the carpet as he throws himself down the hallway, balance still a bit precarious.

“Goddamn fucking phone ringing motherfucker I’m going to ram a fork up whoever’s ass that is – ”

“Oi, look out for the table!”

_Clunk._

“PORCA DI PUTTA THAT WAS MY FUCKING _KNEE – ”_

Finally, he makes it to the end of the seemingly never-ending hallway and wrenches the phone from its perch, almost snapping the cord in his haste and yelling breathlessly into the receiver.

“Who the fuck is it?!”

_“Er, hallo Romano, I was wondering if my brother was there?”_

Lovino takes a moment to place the voice, and when he does, he scowls – It’s Germany; aka potato breath, the original and the worst.

But then he hears movement behind him and he freezes, looking over his shoulder at Gilbert, who is now staring at him intently with kiss swollen lips and wide eyes. He feels heat slice its way into his stomach, and cringes before turning to the kitchen cabinet and staring a hole in it from point blank range, his brain full of static.

He’d just had his hands and lips all over Germany’s brother – that thought crashes and burns inside his brain so he shoves it away quickly because holy fuck he’d just been kissing Gilbert when he’d had _no excuse to_ and even worse he’d _enjoyed it **thoroughly**_ – and now he has to talk to the German motherfucker himself, he can still feel his face flushed and his blood rushing, this is not a conversation he wants just now. He grips the doorframe a little too hard as he swallows thickly, kicking his brain back into gear and responding to the annoyance on the other end of the line.

“Si – I mean, yeah, b-but why the fuck are you ringing me instead of him? Don’t you have mobiles in your backwards ass country?”

_“Well, yes, but I’ve been texting and ringing him for an hour and Gilbert hasn’t answered, and I remembered him mentioning he was going to be visiting you, so – ”_

Lovino doesn’t even bother to take the earpiece away from his ear, he just yells right into it as he turns to address Gilbert – fuck Germany’s ears, he didn’t need them anyway.

“Gilbert, it’s your asshole brother who is wondering why you don’t check your fucking phone, why the fuck does he have this number?!”

Gilbert, who’s standing close enough for a normal speaking level to be quite loud enough, somehow doesn’t even respond to the yelling and instead stares blankly for a few seconds before fumbling for his jeans pocket.

“What? It’s been on me the whole time, and I haven’t heard anything – ”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking it and groaning.

“Goddammit Romano, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t get mobile coverage out here?”

Lovino just blinks, feeling the heat in his gut harden into a cold feeling at the realisation that he’s been “Lovino” all night and now he’s “Romano” as soon as Germany comes into it, like Gilbert – East Ger – no, _Prussia,_ has been reminded of why they were together here in the first place and is trying to distance himself.

He wonders, distantly, why that seems to sting so much.

He’s still holding the receiver dumbly to his ear, and it’s only when Germany gives a small _“Uh, Romano…?”_ that he startles into action, thrusting the phone into Prussia’s hands and pushing past him into the kitchen with a grimace.

“Talk to your asshole brother, I’m going to do the dishes.”

Prussia takes the receiver from him, and Lovino tries to ignore the jump he gives when their fingers brush. Prussia doesn’t seem to notice though, and instead just holds the receiver to his ear and smiles, his voice light.

“Ah, hallo mein Brüderchen. Was brauchst du?”

Soon he’s chattering away in German with a slight frown and Lovino begins to fill the sink with water before forgetting that he left the wine glasses and bottle on the table in the hall. He turns to go get them, but Prussia is standing in the doorway and the cold feeling in his stomach twists uncomfortably when he thinks of trying to push past him to get to the hall, because that would mean touching him and –

He swings his head back around and looks down at the sink, staring blankly down at the cuffs of his shirt that are getting wet and not seeing them.

He tries not to listen to the conversation – he can’t understand it anyway, and doesn’t feel much like trying to listen to it in the way they do in world meetings in order to understand every language that gets thrown around. He can’t help but hear Prussia’s voice seem to get angrier, but that could just be the language to Lovino’s ears, so tries his best to drown it out with the sound of running water.

It doesn’t work.

Finally, there’s a sigh and a bit of silence.

“Warte, Ludwig.”

There’s a sound of movement and then a quick “Lovino?”, and he looks around to find Gilbert looking a bit bashful as he looks across the kitchen at him.

“Uh… Ludwig says there’s a meeting with Merkel tomorrow and he wants me there. He was working on some report for some minister and forgot to tell me before I left but apparently he needs both halves of Germany and…”

He sighs.

“Well, the bottom line is I have to be in Germany tomorrow morning. And my return flight isn’t until tomorrow afternoon.”

Lovino frowns.

“But it’s your stupid country, isn’t it? Why do you even need a flight, surely you can just…?”

He waves hand between them, indicating the vanishing act most countries were able to pull on lands that were theirs, excepting the young ones or those without much political power.

Gilbert just bit his lip, looking down and away and covering the mouthpiece of the receiver in his hand.

“Lovino I… I don’t have any land anymore. I can’t even get to Ludwig’s basement, and that’s where I live and all my stuff is. The only way for me to get home without a ride is by walking, right now.”

Lovino stares with wide eyes, the cold in his gut turning into a boulder that threatens to drag him through the floorboards. He’d known Prussia was no longer a country with borders and population, but for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him the exact consequences that had had for the man in front of him.

He feels helplessly guilty and swallows a bit before answering.

“So… what do you want me to do?”

Gilbert looks up, hopefully.

“Well, you could get from here to the Italian Embassy in Berlin, right?”

Lovino frowns. “Yeah, probably… how does that help you though?”

Gilbert smiles, tentatively – almost like he’s asking permission with just his smile.

“So… you could take me with you, right?”

The frown deepens.

“How the fuck does that work? You can’t just take people with you when you do that shit!”

Gilbert sighed “I used to do it all the time when West was little, and I’ve always been a special case… but nevermind about that.”

He waves a hand, brushing it off, before looking back to Lovino eagerly.

“You could go to the Italian Embassy tomorrow morning, take me with you, and then I can go to the meeting and you can go home and it’s fine, right? West made it pretty clear that he needs me there.”

The boulder in Lovino’s gut sets itself on fire and seeing Gilbert sheepish like this makes him want to punch Germany through the phone – Gilbert is literally trying to move half the earth to help out his little brother and Germany just _expects_ it?

Hell, he didn’t even expect Feliciano to get out of bed on time and arrive without coffee stains on his tie when they had meetings together.

He grimaces, shaking his head at Gilbert.

“No, it’s not fine! Your bastard brother is expecting you to literally drop everything and run halfway across the world just because he told you to, doesn’t that strike you as unfair?”

Gilbert’s sheepish expression turns angry, and there’s something behind his eyes Lovino doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t particularly want to.

“Hey, I have a reputation to uphold, just because you want to be childish about it doesn’t mean I have to.”

“He’s the one being childish! Just because he forgot to tell you doesn’t mean you should have to suffer to make up for his mistake! Fuck him, if he doesn’t want you around badly enough to tell you about it beforehand then maybe he should deal with it himself!”

Gilbert stutters for a moment, but whatever he was going to say doesn’t make it past his filter and he sighs instead. Lovino takes a step closer, his jaw set, holding out his hand palm up.

“Give me the phone, Gilbert. Give me the fucking phone right now or I swear I will ram it so far up your ass I’ll be able to speak to your brother through your nose, God in heaven…”

Gilbert looks down at the little Italian in front of him whose blood seems to comprise of at least 60% rage, and gingerly hands the phone over, glaring the whole while. Lovino takes it, and as soon as it’s pressed to his ear there’s no stopping him.

“Alright, you listen here Germany, you piece of fucking redigested dog shit, I will tell you what’s going to happen. Your brother is coming to your stupid ass meeting, but do you know what? Do you fucking know what? I’m coming too. That’s right, Italy Romano is coming to your bastard German meeting to make sure that you don’t pull this kind of stupid stunt ever again because it’s the biggest bullshit I have ever heard, and that includes the shit you call opera.”

He pauses to draw breath, spotting Gilbert standing in the corner with a hand over his mouth out of the corner of his eye and pointedly not looking at him.

“I know you hate me, I can hear you groaning in your tiny brain, and there’s nothing you can do, because this is what you get for being a shitty ass brother who expects everyone to just bow down and worship your potato feet. See you tomorrow bright and fucking early, and if we’re late or something then it’s your own damn fault.”

He takes the phone down from his mouth, only to raise it one last time to yell a parting shot.

“Oh, and don’t ever call here again, there’s a reason why this number is not put down as a contact number you second class potato fucker!”

Almost violently, Lovino slams the phone down onto the holder, and for a few seconds there’s silence.

Then, he’s aware of a quiet noise coming from the corner, and he looks over to see that instead of tears, like he’d been half expecting, Gilbert is laughing.

He’s laughing so hard that his whole face is red, and the quiet noise Lovino can hear is him wheezing past the hand that’s covering his mouth.

Lovino frowns, and at his sudden silence Gilbert looks up, locking eyes with him, breathing out a single sentence.

“Why is he only a second class potato fucker?”

Lovino makes a _hmpf_ sound before moving back towards the sink and turning off the water before it overflows.

“Because you’re the first class potato fucker.”

And with that, Gilbert erupts into laughter, and the sound should be at least slightly obnoxious but Lovino can’t bring himself to be mad. Instead, the corners of his mouth turn up, and it’s only a few moments before everything’s forgotten and they settle in side by side to clean the dishes.

And Lovino can’t even bring himself to be disturbed by the fact that none of it feels at all fake anymore.


End file.
